‘Are you sure you’re not having some sort of midlife crisis?’
Crisis, yes, but his was of the epic financial variety, and he sure didn’t want to be talking about that. ‘I’m three weeks younger than you are, Pete.’
His mate snorted. ‘Just … come and have a beer sometime. All right?’
‘Sure,’ he said.
‘I’m going to hold you to that. Now … tell me an engineer has inspected this road.’
The scene unfolding before them did look alarming, and the drizzle of rain wasn’t helping. He’d have ruts in his back paddock deeper than Shannon Gully by the end of the day.
He’d bought the three weatherboard cottages on the cheap from a house removal company working out of the Southern Downs inQueensland—well, two cottages and a one-roomed railway station built in 1910—for the farmstay business. The bedrock of his get-out-of-financial-jail plan.
His dad had promised to teach him how to make gourmet muffins; Pete had qualified as a chippie before he’d traded in his steelcap boots and become a property developer, so could help him out with any complicated reno jobs. And then there was the cowshed down by the gully to strip down and turn into an event space.
At least … that had been his plan before he’d seen that big hunk of winged metal.
The cottages were a risk, but in Joey’s experience, there was nothing that hard work and a good spreadsheet couldn’t sort.
Risk brought reward. Mostly. Not always—the recent crash of the share market that had blown his loan sky-high and lost him both his job and a big freaking chunk of his pride was proof of that. But he’d bounce back. He always did.
This bounce was just going to be in a different direction, that was all. City life was in his past, for good.
Wirraway Farmstay—Historic Cottages, Country Breakfasts, Cowshed Art & Events.Now that he had the website underway, he should take some photos of the cottages arriving, write up a little blog.
A shout came up from the road below.
‘Here’s trouble,’ Pete muttered beside him.
Joey narrowed his eyes. The house removal truck had ground to a halt while the driver had a confab with one of the supervisors. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘It’s fine. That’s Mack, the boss. He walked the road when he gave me the delivery quote. It’s his insurance on the line until the houses are stumped and stitched back together, and he reckoned his drivers could cope with worse.’
The first truck was on the move again, at a crawl to negotiate the hairpin turn off Shannon Gully Road. ‘Where are you putting them?’ said Pete.
‘The paddock behind the homestead. Close enough for me to walk over, but out of sight behind the old fruit orchard.’
‘Nice.’
Was that actual admiration he was hearing in Pete’s voice? ‘Thanks, man.’
‘Really, it’s lucky for you I didn’t think of it first for my place.’
Joey grinned. ‘There’s no such thing as luck, mate. And think of the plus side: you get to come over and tell me everything I’m doing wrong when I start renovating them.’
‘True. Do you even know how to use a nail gun?’
‘No, but I’m awesome at research. You tell me what I need to work on first to get them structurally sound, and I’ll figure the rest out.’
‘Huh. Well, I don’t think your houses are in need of my advice for a couple of hours at least. Where’s that bacon and egg cook-up you promised me?’
‘Follow me,’ he said, slapping Pete on the back and heading up the hill. He unclicked the dog and Gus scampered ahead to sniff the timber rails marking the farm’s driveway. The sun was shining on the shorn grass, dandelions clustered at the base of the old fence posts, and the frangipani tree had some new green leaves sprouting from its knobbled limbs.
Signs of change, he thought. For the tree … for the farm … and hopefully for him.
The homestead up ahead wasn’t looking too different—it was still mostly held together by mildew and chipped paint—but the place had a homey feel, and that’s what he wanted. A home … and,one day, someone to share it with. His gaze landed on the tiny boomerang scar he’d worn on his wrist since he was eighteen.That’d be something, Natalie, he thought.Wouldn’t it?
He’d returned to Clarence to give his life the boot up the arse it needed. Find some peace and quiet. He had animals relying on him, plants waiting to be fertilised, and his farmstay project was grinding its way up the hill in first gear behind him.
There was no turning back now.